


Drowsy

by Jadetarem



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Gen, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 16:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8408083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadetarem/pseuds/Jadetarem
Summary: What if Phaere's demand for a 'private audience' prior to the House Despana summoning had been worded a bit more generally? Join our fearless band of heroes as they decide who will take one for the team and spend the night with the insane priestess.





	

* * *

It was a group of very unusual drow that gathered at the Ust’Natha tavern. The going rumor was that they had just arrived from Ched Nasad as additional reinforcements for the planned glorious offensive against the hated surfacers. Rumor also had it that they had accomplished a great deal in a small time, rescuing handmaidens, obtaining rare magical ingredients, cowing uppity svirfneblin, and gaining the favor of House Despana’s Matron Mother through various acts of daring, cunning, and over-the-top violence.

  
All of that was true, of course, but it missed the juiciest bit of information: the dark elves in question, led by the rather blandly named Veldrin, were not dark elves at all. They were Gorion’s Ward and his five companions in disguise, on a long and _incredibly_ convoluted quest to rescue the eggs of a powerful silver dragon. Doing so served a greater purpose, of course, but that would be a tale that would take seven to ten additional chapters. One might call _that_ a story for another time.  
  
For now, there was the _plan_. The plan, which had now grown to include two sets of fake dragon eggs, an imp, a rebel faction, and something like fifteen acts of planned and perpetuated treason (plus Jarlaxle had somehow gotten a cameo, even though no one invited him), had been going quite well… until their primary point of contact with House Despana – the classically wicked, criminally insane, and dreadfully insecure Phaere – had thrown in just _one more_ obstacle.  
  
A breathless drow, who might have looked just a bit like a half-elven wild mage named Neera if one squinted and looked sideways, hopped over the back of an open chair and scooted forward to join her circle of companions in the quietest corner of the tavern. This table had quickly become their favorite, mostly because it was far enough away from the monster arena and dueling pits that the blood spatters only occasionally reached it. “Okay, guys, we have a problem. A really big one, not a ‘oh shoot I don’t have enough coppers to tip the barmaid’ problem.”  
  
‘Veldrin’ leaned forward in alarm. “What is it? Did our, uh, ‘late’ friend-“  
  
“No, he’s fine. But before I left the Female Fighter’s Society – wow, that’s an awkward name – anyway, before I left her quarters, Phaere grabbed me by the arm and said ‘Oooh, all this treason, matricide, and demon-summoning I have planned for tomorrow has made me incredibly horny. I’m going to take ten minutes to freshen up; have you or one of your companions ready to satisfy my _outrageous_ appetites when I get back. I don’t care who.’”  
  
Jaheira raised an eyebrow, “I sincerely doubt those were her exact words.”  
  
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak _evil psycho-bitch,_ so I might have paraphrased a little.” Neera rolled her eyes. “I promise, I got the gist of it right.”  
  
Aerie looked around at her companions, clearly terrified of the prospect. “So… what do we do?”  
  
“Satisfy her desires, of course!” Minsc, or the bizarrely massive and ripped dark elf that bore a passing resemblance to him, let one meaty fist fall to the table, rattling everything on it. “That is what we’ve been doing all along, no? Minsc will be happy to provide for all of her large-sword related needs, so long as the innocent are preserved and JUSTICE is-“  
  
“Minsc, Minsc!” Gorion’s Ward cut him off, though he had to wave a few times to get the excitable berserker’s attention. “What is it that you think she wants?”  
  
“I haven’t the slightest idea! Boo knows, but he says he will only tell me when I’m older.”  
  
“And that’s why _that_ is not the plan we’re going with.” The Bhaalspawn rubbed at his temples even as Boo squeaked his agreement.  
  
Imoen coughed lightly, finally speaking up. “Well, we have to come up with something. I doubt Phaere handles rejection graciously.”  
  
“Or nonviolently.” Aerie nodded, eyes wide.  
  
“Or at all.” Jaheira added.  
  
Neera nodded. “Yeah, she’s kinda murdery even when things are going well for her.”  
  
“Oooh!” Aerie’s face lit up. “Let’s just tell her that we’ve sworn an oath of chastity to Lolth. She won’t want to mess with her own goddess!”  
  
Imoen gave her an odd look. “Is that a… is that a thing? Lolth doesn’t seem like a deity that would accept that kind of oath…”  
  
“I… have no idea.” The only actual elf among them deflated. “Maybe some future version of reality would give me a chance to know random things about religions I’ve never encountered before, but it isn’t this one.”  
  
Imoen patted her on the shoulder. “Eh, give it a few years.”  
  
‘Veldrin’ shook his head. “I don’t think trying to bluff a high priestess of Lolth about her own dogma is the plan we want to go with.”  
  
“I could always use my adorable puppy eyes!” Aerie perked back up. “I get away with all kinds of stuff that way.”  
  
Jaheira scowled at her. “Aerie, there are no puppy eyes. You currently look like a _drow_.”  
  
“O-oh… right.” The avariel stammered sheepishly, scratching at the back of her head. “I keep forgetting about that.”  
  
_“WE KNOW!”_ The other five shouted in unison. A moment of awkward silence passed before Minsc spoke up. “Well, Boo claims that your complete inability to impersonate the bad guys has nearly gotten us all killed three times now, but _I_ was fooled!”  
  
“Thanks, Minsc, but I’m going to shut up now.”  
  
Jaheira leaned forward. “Drow have this brutal matriarchy… why not tell her that we have a more powerful female back in Ched Nasad who sees us as her property and doesn’t like to share? Just let ‘Veldrin’ here use his magic ring to help with the persuasion.”  
  
“Right. And how long do you think I can improvise if she starts asking for details about ‘Veldrina of House Nastypants’ instead of taking my word for it?”  
  
Imoen winced. “Yeah, I hate to say it, but part of the reason Despana was so quick to sponsor us was because we claimed we _didn’t_ already have a house.”  
  
An uncomfortable silence descended. Finally, Gorion’s Ward cleared his throat, “Well, if we can’t bluff her, can’t fight her, and can’t say no, maybe someone does have to… take one for the team?”  
  
“Volunteering already?” Jaheira gave him an arch look.  
  
He shook his head. “As a matter of fact, no. Matron Ardulace could sense my Bhaal essence, just a bit, and that was from across the room. If I start getting freaky with Phaere, she might pick up on it too.”  
  
“Well, we might be screwed then – shut up – because I don’t think Minsc is the right option either.” Neera gave the huge man an apologetic look.  
  
“I have long since lost track of what you all were talking about, but Boo assures me that you are correct.”  
  
“Let’s back up a second here.” Their leader straightened. “Does anyone here actually _want_ to sleep with her?”  
  
A circle of stone faces and blank looks came back to him. “That’s what I thought. So gender preferences don’t really matter. We should probably base the decision on who’s the least dangerous and most able to, uh, satisfy her?”  
  
“Assuming we even know what that means,” Imoen cut in. “I dunno how much of this you picked up back in Candlekeep, but from what I understand, ‘vanilla’ sex for the drow involves chains, whips, and tentacles.”  
  
Jaheira snorted at that. “You can have a very healthy sex life with all of that, with a little trust and communication.” The druid reached for her mug, but paused as everyone stared at her. “…or so I’ve heard.”  
  
“I kinda doubt the drow are doing it right. Either way, I’ve had enough of those for ten lifetimes.”  
  
Neera shuddered. “What would a common drow safe word be, anyway?”  
  
“It’s the black tongue of the dark elves, there are no safe words.” Jaheira deadpanned, “Perhaps her potential lover should just claim to have a headache? That’s what Khalid always did.”  
  
“Yes, I can’t wait to tell Phaere that we all got hit with a Mass Headache spell on the way to her quarters.” Gorion’s Ward planted his face in one hand. After a deep breath, he looked back up. “Hells with it, we’re down to six minutes. Everyone make the case for why you’re not it or why someone else would be a better choice. Minsc is exempt. I personally can’t do it because the risk of discovery is too high, plus she’s been weirdly obsessed with me since we got here, and I keep thinking she’s going to want a _souvenir_ in the most serial-killer sense of that word.”  
  
Aerie took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t do it because, my _total inexperience_ with physical intimacy and raging body image issues aside, she might literally break me. Plus, I don’t think I could properly concentrate on pleasing a woman. I mean, are none of you even a _little_ distracted by the miles and miles of crushing, weighty stone pressing all around us? By the knowledge that the few pockets of air are choked with the spores and scents of numerous nightmare creatures trying to kill us all? Are you not aware of the sheer malevolence of the people we’ve hidden ourselves among: an entire race that, in a world of clear and provable objective morality, _chose_ the side of anarchy and evil, and _revel_ in the chaos and slaughter that they bring for their malformed spider queen?!”  
  
Silence fell on the group again. Neera reached for her mug, “Well, I mean, I am _now_.”  
  
“What’s weird is that they’re _really_ insecure about it, too.” Imoen hefted her own glass. “They’ve got this bizarre cognitive dissonance thing going on where they’re clearly their own worst enemies but still hate everyone else more.”  
  
Their massive ranger finally piped up. “Also, Minsc does _not_ understand why they decorate exclusively with spikes. The spiky chamber pots in particular feel like a cry for help.”  
  
“Right?” The avariel waved at the woman to her right. “Anyway, Neera is the best choice.”  
  
The wild mage spat out her drink, wiping at her nose and coughing. “Come again?”  
  
“You might have to.” Jaheira muttered.  
  
“Oh, there’s no need to be modest, Neera.” Aerie gave her the most winning grin and thumbs up she could muster. “You’re fun, spontaneous, good looking, and ridiculously lucky. I think you have a shot at pulling us through this.”  
  
“Thiiiiis sounds like the story of how everyone died because I accidentally set Phaere’s _hair on fire_ mid-coitus.”  
  
Imoen shrugged. “Maybe she’s into that?”  
  
“Drow _do_ have magic resistance…” Jaheira rubbed her chin.  
  
‘Veldrin’ held up a finger, stalling further debate, “Neera, I thought you had those wild surges under control.”  
  
“ _Mostly_ under control,” the mage tugged a bit at her garments while staring at him, “with the help of my _magic robes and belt._ ”  
  
“Ooohhhh.”  
  
“Yeah, the more naked I get, the higher the chance of fireballs goes.” Neera adjusted her position the seat to lean back without falling over. “On top of that, it’ll be harder to control anything if I can’t speak, and I’m thinking there’s about an eighty percent chance she’s going to want to gag me.”  
  
“One hundred percent,” her leader corrected.  
  
“One hundred and fifty percent.” Imoen added.  
  
Aerie nodded sympathetically. “Please don’t take this personally, Neera, but… everyone you’ve ever met has fantasized about gagging you. It isn’t a sex thing, they just… don’t really want to hear you talk.”  
  
Neera blinked at that, before deciding that some battles weren’t worth fighting. “Regardless, when they called me a Wild Mage, they didn’t mean ‘in bed.’ I’m not exactly an expert on the subject myself, other than a couple of _really_ ill-advised trysts. Trysts that might have ended with someone’s hair on fire, at that. Jaheira is probably the best choice. Weren’t you married for, like, fifty years? You have to know your way around the bedroom by now.”  
  
The older woman shook her head. “This is also a recipe for disaster. Phaere and I are… how to put it… probably too similar in the bedroom?”  
  
“You’re making that up. You’re making that up to get out of this. Seriously, just flip a coin or something to figure out which of you is the top.”  
  
Just then, there was a horrified scream from across the tavern. A gout of blood shot up from the monster pit, slopping across the floor, the ceiling, and the chair of one half-elf in disguise.  
  
“Also, I am now covered in entrails.”  
  
“Maybe we should have taken the pit boss up on his offer to fight the monsters for money. I mean, that’s ninety percent of what we do,” Aerie mused.  
  
Neera shook her head adamantly. “Hey, do _you_ wanna fight the beholder? ‘Cuz I don’t wanna fight the beholder.”  
  
Jaheira waved to get their attention. “Anyway, I was actually thinking that Imoen would be the best choice. She’s a fast learner, good at improvisation, and, well… you know.”  
  
Five heads and one hamster turned to look at the table’s _other_ Bhaalspawn.  
  
“Know what?” Imoen looked back and forth at her various party members.  
  
Aerie cleared her throat. “You do… work for the other side, right?”  
  
“What?!” The former pickpocket shot up from her seat. “Look, I may – allegedly – be a Bhaalspawn, but I-“  
  
“No, not that.” Gorion’s Ward waved her down. “The _other_ other side.”  
  
“If I was selling you out to the drow, I _think_ you’d have noticed by-“  
  
“Boo believes that you fancy women.” Minsc declared, bringing the entire overused gag to a screeching halt.  
  
A stunned Imoen sat back down, still clearly cross. “That’s ludicrous. Putting aside the fact that this game was made in the 1990’s-“  
  
Neera cut her off. “Too meta.”  
  
“Putting aside the fact that it _definitely_ would have come up by now given the number of times we got propositioned at the Friendly Arm Inn-“  
  
Neera leaned forward, “But that’s just it! The hints are everywhere. Like that time Aerie was freaking out about that spider and you just reached over and killed it.”  
  
“That spider was the size of a bear,” Aerie muttered, crossing her arms and looking elsewhere.  
  
“If killing spiders makes you gay, then I’ve got some polarizing news for the rest of you-“  
  
‘Veldrin’ spoke up, “Plus, you love patchwork armor, disabling devices, and camping.”  
  
Jaheira nodded, “Then there’s the hair.”  
  
“Oh come on, those are just stereotypes! And _this_ is a chin-length bob cut! It’s not that short! You all just have giant waterfall tresses.”  
  
The enormous ranger nodded, “Minsc _has_ wondered how it never gets in the way or snags on the little ring bits in the armor.”  
  
“There we go.” Imoen pointed at him. “Minsc is catching on quicker than the rest of you. And that’s terrible.”  
  
Gorion’s Ward sighed. “Really, Imoen, I think most of us were thinking of that time we went to the Elfsong Tavern and you just stared at the innkeeper’s chest the entire time. Never said a word.”  
  
There was a long pause as everyone looked at his half-sister. She held up both hands, “In my defense, those tits were the stuff of legends.”  
  
“You were drooling-“  
  
“ _Legends,_ ” she repeated.  
  
“It’d be okay to admit it to us. No one here would think less of you for it.” Neera offered.  
  
Imoen scoffed, “That’s not the issue. If I express a clear preference either way, the part of Aerie’s brain that got replaced by romance ballads would kick in and she’d start trying to pair me up with every eligible warm body that we came across.”  
  
“I was just thinking about that!” Aerie nodded excitedly, leaning across the table to put a hand on Imoen’s shoulder. “And as your spiritual advisor-“  
  
“That is _not_ the nature of our relationship.”  
  
“-this is actually a unique opportunity for you! Since you don’t currently have a soul, whatever twisted and unholy things you and she get up to in that bedroom, things I can only assume will involve summoned monsters and whatever a ‘tentacle rod’ is, won’t count against you as sins when you get judged after your final death.”  
  
“…is that really how it works?”  
  
The avariel frowned, thinking about it as she sat back down. “Now that you mention it, I’m not sure.”  
  
Jaheira snorted. “Not sure? That seems like it would make proselytizing difficult.”  
  
“No, they just change how all that works every few years. I might not be up to date.”  
  
Imoen rolled her eyes. “The point I was trying to get at, before you all _voted_ on my sexuality, was that even if I am a lesbian – which I’m not-“  
  
“Sure,” the other five chimed in unison.  
  
“I _still_ wouldn’t want to sleep with _Phaere_. No sane person would.”  
  
Gorion’s Ward leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off a headache. “That could well be checkmate, then. I might literally be soulless now, but I refuse to _make_ one of my friends do something like that. I guess I’ll try to come up with a plan to get us out of here alive after the alarms start ringing.”  
  
“Last call!” The bartender shouted, wiping down a spiky chalice.  
  
“Wait, that’s it!” Imoen bolted out of her seat, nearly knocking Neera over.  
  
The wild mage righted herself. “That’s what?"  
  
“Our way out. I just need a moment, aaaand I’m gonna need Aerie’s help.”  
  
The elf’s eyes widened. “Me?”  
  
“You have those memory modification spells, right? You have some ready today?”  
  
Aerie nodded. “Y…yes? I tend to need a bunch of them, seeing as I occasionally forget that we’re pretending to be dark el-“  
  
_“WE KNOW!”  
  
_ “Right. Meet me at the Female Fighter’s Soc… no, that name is stupid. I’m not going to say it. Meet me in Phaere’s room and be ready to help me get undressed quickly. No one is going to have to do anything they regret.”  
  
“I’m already kind of regretting it, but okay.”

* * *

 

Imoen darted over to the tavern keeper, bumping into a few people on the way. Gorion had raised her to be, if not polite or respectful, at least not a massive bitch to everyone she met. Naturally, then, her first instinct was to apologize for running them down… but unfortunately, this was Ust’Natha, and the culture demanded a different response. “Out of my way, sniveling worms!” Sadly, that actually did the trick instead of getting her punched like it would at any self-respecting surface watering hole – the kind that was full of a bizarre mix of lowlifes, callow beginner adventurers, and ungodly horrors masquerading as one or the other.  
  
“You!” She started in on the tavern keeper, suddenly blanking on her excuse for this demand. She decided to wing it. “A group of, oh, let’s say worthless males have, uh… challenged the superiority of my erstwhile frenemies and I in all respects. We intend to firebomb them as petty revenge! Sell me a bottle of your strongest drink – No! Not the strongest one you _serve_.” She cut him off as he reached for something behind the counter. “I mean the stuff you steal from dwarves and then use to clean the monster cages. The kind you wouldn’t even sell to mind flayers. That.”  
  
“I’ll need you to sign a waiver.”  
  
“Yes, fine, whatever. Just hurry.”

* * *

Phaere emerged from a back room to find a remarkably charming setup, all the more so because it had been thrown together in just under forty seconds. Imoen sat on the least spiky chair in the room, dressed in a spider-silk robe and what appeared to be little else. A bottle of drink with the labels removed sat between two unreasonably pointy goblets on the tiny, spiky table next to her, which also sported a few decoratively bio-luminescent flowers. “Well, I wasn’t expecting… the bob cut girl…”  
  
“Imoen.”  
  
“Thank you. It is _so_ hard to keep track of other people’s minions.” The priestess stalked over to her, grabbing the other woman by the chin. “Before we begin, the safe word is _ssalnatoril’harabantihazzlan._ ”  
  
“I… don’t think I can remember that. Or pronounce it.”  
  
“Excellent.” Phaere released her jaw. “Disrobe, beta female. You’ve already gone too long without any sweating or begging.”  
  
“Oh my gods, she really does talk like that.” Imoen muttered, largely to herself.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“I said, one moment, your malfeasance.”  
  
“Magnificence.”  
  
The Bhaalspawn ignored the correction. “Back in my home town of Candlek- ah, _Ched Nasad_ , my people had a custom whereby we would dine, or at least get some drinks, before physical… intimacy?”  
  
Phaere’s sneer inspired a brief moment of panic. “Bah. That sounds like insipid surface nonsense. Bonding, intimacy, _sharing feelings_ … why delay gratification longer than one has to?”  
  
_Wow, Solaufein, you had a **real** prize here._ Imoen cleared her throat, trying to get into the warped headspace presented to her. She found it distressingly easy without a soul to get in the way, not that she was going to thank Bodhi for stealing it. “Not at all, mistress. But… what’s another meaningless conquest to one such as you?” She began to pour for herself and her host, hoping that the slight glow of the dwarven… _fluid_ was just a trick of the light. Her furious thoughts directed her to some of the context she’d picked up on the nature of the woman’s past relationships… and how they’d ended. “You know quite well that love is a weakness, that a personal touch can be used to hurt someone more deeply than could possibly be achieved with whips, or chains, or tentacles-“  
  
The priestess blinked at that, but was listening. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the vanilla type.”  
  
“-so please. Drink with me, lead me on with promises and hints of something deeper, something more, and when you snatch away the tenuous connection we forge and crush it, it will be far more exquisite than a mere fling on a stylishly spiky mattress. It’s a… _purity_ of emotion that can’t be found anywhere else in the shadows of our shared home. Naught but total dominance,” she raised her glass, “for the new head of House Despana.”

* * *

**Five Minutes Later  
  
** Phaere’s snoring form rested gently between the two rows of spines that emerged from her bed. Imoen shook her head at that, but they had a schedule to keep. “Alright, Aerie, you can come out now.”  
  
A spiked door in the far wall slid open and the normally-blonde elf stepped out. “You can too, you know. I’m not going to judge y-“  
  
“We’re not starting this again.”  
  
“Okay, but I’ll listen whenever you’re ready.” Aerie looked at Imoen’s handiwork. “I can’t believe this worked. Did you really just seduce her with the prospect of _emotional_ S &M?”  
  
“Looks that way. I figured it was the one thing she hadn’t tried yet."

“What did you drug her with?”  
  
“Drug?” Imoen took a long pull from her goblet. She threw an arm around Aerie’s shoulders. “Aerie, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, and I know there’s some kind of deep millennia-old racial hatred going on here, but all elves do have one thing in common: you have the intestinal fortitude and hit points of a sad kitten.”  
  
“It’s true,” the avariel sighed, “I’m basically an adorable sheet of tissue paper."  
  
“Which means you all handle drinks like a bitch. I could go all day at the drow tavern there and barely get buzzed. I’m pretty sure Minsc thinks he’s drinking water, and I now realize that calling it ‘the watering hole’ on the way in didn’t do him any favors. Anyway, my point is that if I could get her started, I just needed to make sure we never got to the fluffy handcuffs and burning hellbeasts stage, and everything would work out. It’s just a shame I didn’t get to indulge my hidden side, here.”  
  
“So you _are_ g-“  
  
“ _Thieving,_ Aerie. Normally, we don’t leave a room until we’ve taken everything that isn’t bolted down or on fire, but this time we have to leave everything here or Phaere will get suspicious. Now, let’s get to modifying her memories.”  
  
“Right. How are we doing this?”  
  
“I’m going to cast divinations to figure out what she’s actually into, and you’re going to visualize it and plant the memories into her unconscious form.”  
  
“This is easily the most bizarre form of pornography ever conceived.”  
  
Imoen snorted. “And you thought the Underdark wouldn’t teach you anything. Alright, I’m going to start now. Get ready.”

* * *

**Fifteen Minutes After That  
  
** “Alright, I… think we’re done.” Imoen’s hand shook as she raised the bottle of dwarven mystery liquid to her lips. “I know _I’m_ done, at least. There are some things mortals are not meant to know. Did you visualize it?”  
  
Aerie turned with a slow grace, probably to keep her dinner down. A sickly green color tinged her cheeks, and her voice was thick with held-back tears. “Yes, Imoen, I visualized it. I would now like some of whatever tranquilized Phaere so that I may _un_ -visualize it.”  
  
“Aw, you’ll be fine.”  
  
“I _was_ doing fine until the bit with the demons and the adamantine waffle iron. I mean, what and how? How would that other _thing_ even fit there? And where are they getting maple syrup? They live in _caves._ ”  
  
“Ah, c’mere, Aerie.” Imoen pulled her into a tight hug. “I know this isn’t quite your favorite place-“  
  
“It’s utter anathema to my race, religion, philosophy, moral alignment, future, and well-being. And as a multiclass spellcaster, I’m _really_ loving the ubiquitous magic resistance.”  
  
“-but we’re almost done here. Tomorrow, a hungover Phaere will go to her mother’s ritual, an absurd amount of double-crossing will happen, and she’ll presumably be dragged screaming to the Abyss by a creature made of nightmares, sin, and blood. Then we’ll get to go home.”  
  
Aerie sniffed. “Really?”  
  
“No. My home was wiped out by doppelgangers and yours is literally a traveling murder circus. But we _will_ get to leave the Underdark after copious amounts of violence, and anywhere else will be better than here.”  
  
“That’s… true enough.” Aerie returned the hug. For a long moment, she was content to just close her eyes and relax as much as she could… given the circumstances. “Imoen?”  
  
“Yeah, Aerie?”  
  
“You’re fondling my rear end.”  
  
“…in my defense, I’ve been drinking what might be dwarven bleach, and that ass is the stuff of legends.”  
  
“Imoen-“  
  
_“Legends.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Happy early Halloween, kids. This isn't my first fanfic, but it's the first one I'm putting up here on AO3.
> 
> For those who might have missed a rather obscure joke, the (terrible) novelization for BG2 solves the Phaere sex dilemma by having Imoen spontaneously become a lesbian out of the blue, ignoring the fact that even if she *was* gay, you'd have to be a lunatic to want to sleep with the psychotic murder priestess.
> 
> Comments, reviews, and questions are all appreciated.


End file.
